Page 5 of Killer Confections
I lost track of how many times he dunked me, but I could never look at the lake again.
Thinking about it now makes my stomach churn.
The office door opens, but I keep my head lowered. I can see the mom, dressed in a pencil skirt and red button down, in my peripheral as she ushers her son into the hall. Blake, one of my classmates, holds his limp wrist. His eyes are bloodshot from crying and his nose is crooked from where I hit him. The nurse cleaned his blood after our fight. He looks ridiculous with the thick tissue paper crammed in his nostrils.
His mom looks down at me, curling her lip. “Where’s your parents?”
I don’t answer. I keep my eyes trained on the floor, pretending I don’t see them.
“Mrs. Harper,” the principal warns from the doorway, her tone sharp. “I asked you not to interfere. Atlas’s parents have been called, and the incident reports are filled out. We’ll handle this.”
Blake’s mom points an accusing finger at me and I grit my teeth. “He could have killed my son! This isn’t the first time he’s been involved in an altercation.”
Mrs. Wilma pushes from the doorway, stepping in front of me. She’s in her early fifties, dressed in a long beige skirt with a bright blue flowered top. The principal has always had a soft spot for me, trying to smooth things over with the parents who try to verbally attack me.
“Teenagers get into fights all the time. That doesn't mean I condone the action, but it happens. I’m sure Atlas is upset that he hurt Blake.” She tries to reason.
I’m not.
Mrs. Harper still isn’t pleased as she crosses her arms. “Then he should apologize. Don’t think I won’t press charges.”
“Do you know why Atlas threw the first punch?” Mrs. Wilma demands, her tone losing its gentleness. “Blake has bullied this boy over his clothes for the last month. I’ve called you more than enough, leaving you voicemails about the incident and you never returned my calls. You press charges, and I’ll gladly bring this to the attention of the school board.”
Mrs. Harper falters, narrowing her eyes. “Then an apology will suffice.”
“From both boys,” Mrs. Wilma gives her a pointed look.
The mom scoffs before looking at her son and motioning to me with a hand.
Blake rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry.” It’s half-hearted and complete bullshit with the disgusted look on his face.
My anger boils over. There are a few stupid reasons I’mbullied. One being my height and size. My dad’s genes are just as imposing as him, making me over six feet tall at only sixteen.
Another, being my clothes. My father never divulged material possessions for us. He claimed we needed to stay focused on training. New clothes and toys would only impede his great plan. The tattered rags I wear, worn down with holes and stains, make my jaw grind.
“You cry like a bitch,” I grit.
“Fuck you!” He bellows, his cheeks puffing as his fists clench.
“Atlas!” Mrs. Wilma scolds, raising her voice.
“I’m pressing charges,” Mrs. Harper proclaims. “I don’t know what kind of school you’re running, but this is unacceptable. Tell the school board I didn’t return your calls. There are a lot of other families whowillback me.” She presses a hand to her son’s shoulder, guiding him out the door as her heels click angrily against the floor.
Mrs. Wilma sighs, shaking her head. “What am I going to do with you? You can’t keep making trouble—”
“I know,” I interrupt. “Can I have a minute alone until my dad shows up?”
Her face softens, “Is something going on at home?”
“No.”
“You can tell me—”
“Please, Mrs. Wilma,” I beg. “I’m fine. I just need a minute.”
A long pause hangs heavy in the air between us and I can feel her eyes burning a hole in the side of my head before she sighs. “I’ll be in my office. Come and get me if you need anything.”
I don’t respond, keeping my eyes glued to the floor. When the door clicks shut, I can finally breathe. I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself down before dad shows up. My punishment will only be worse if my adrenaline kicks in. It’s better to take everything silently.
